June 2007 – akaemi.com
 

Month: June 2007

As he occasionally does after a particularly rough day, my husband decided he needed a Maggie Moo’s chocolate shake. So after our brief trip to the grocery store, we stopped off at the ice cream place.

There’s a smoothie place 3 doors down from the ice cream place where they sell dairy-free treats. Maggie Moo’s even makes dairy-free smoothies. But there’s something about going into an ice cream parlor that renders me incapable of making a good dietary decision. Because I happen to love ice cream; I used to eat it for breakfast, back in my college days. I used to ALWAYS have a half gallon in my freezer. It used to be one of my four major food groups.

But then, as happens, I got older and my body decided it HATED me. My dairy intake has slowly diminished as my body has become more and more adamant that milk is evil. This enables me to live an uneventful life, devoid of … well, I don’t need to go into details.

But, there I was, at Maggie Moo’s, looking at all my choices. Ordering a regular raspberry roller coaster. Enjoying my wonderfully delicious, freshly “mixed” ice cream. By the time we made it home, however, it was already apparent to me that ice cream was a bad idea. Even though I had barely made it through half my treat, there was definitely some abdominal discomfort goin’ on. So what did I do? I stopped eating my ice cream, of course. And I put it in the freezer, so that this whole debacle can start again tomorrow …

expectations

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Recently, I was waxing sentimental, and wrote my now infamous brothers and sisters posts. I had intended to stop there, but I have since received requests for a “husband” post, as well as a “father” post – and I’m sure there are a few out there waiting for the “mother”, “husband’s mother”, and “father-in-law” posts. I haven’t forgotten the other very important members of my family, but I also haven’t yet been inspired for those posts. The things I write about sorta “come to me” – and if I try to force it, it doesn’t turn out well. So – for those of you expecting your very own posts – don’t worry, I’ll get to them. And I hope I make it worth the wait. 🙂

tada! podcasts!

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So, after having to work really hard to get b3 to read the blog I wrote just for him (ok, so maybe it was for b1 and b2, too), one of my coworkers suggested that I should start doing podcasts as well. So I googled ‘make podcast’, and found some great tutorials that all suggested audacity paired with the lame mp3 encoder for podcast creation – and then I checked my list of available blog plugins, and lo and behold, there was podPress.

The hardest part was figuring out how to turn on my microphone. I’ve never needed it before, so it would seem that it was all turned off in some obscure windows audio input volume controller. (Hint: it doesn’t do any good to raise the mic volume if you don’t check the ‘select’ box under the mic input.)

So, once I got all that squared away, I found a nice short blog – ode to transfats – recorded it, exported to mp3, uploaded to my site, and added it to my ode to transfats post.

So – b3 – you have no more excuses! You know my site (c’mon …. it’s my NAME …) – and you have ears.

brothers

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Although I was more excited about the arrival of my sister than the existence of my brothers, my brothers had much more of an impact on me. In fact, had it not been for my brothers, I don’t know that I would be where I am today.

I have a brother 2 years older than me, one 2 years younger, and one 4 years younger. So, right from the get-go, I was always “one of the boys”. I was never one to shrink from a challenge; anything they could do, I could do better. I may not have come up with the idea to turn on the hose and make some good ol’ backyard mud to play in, but once things got started, I was definitely going to join in.

Don’t get me wrong; I had quite the collection of barbies, I wore dresses and pigtails, and my favorite color was pink – at least until I was 12. From the age of 6, I always had a female best friend. Recess was spent playing with girls, and I participated in plenty of sleepovers. I may not do makeup, but I am rather fond of nail polish. I’m not exactly what you would call super-girly, but there are definitely plenty of girly pursuits that I partake in.

That being said, I had many an adventure with my brothers. We built time machines that required every toy in the toybox, a dining room chair, and all the refrigerator magnets that could be reached by someone under 3 feet tall. We played Mario Brothers and don’t-let-ET-fall-in-the-invisible-pit on our Atari 2600. We made the impossible trek through the spiderwebby path between our two back neighbors’ fences. We let b2 play the flight simulator on the Commodore 64, because he was always good for a huge crash – and a crash always meant it was time to ‘parachute’, screaming of course, as we ran out the back door.

We often had to line up in the kitchen as mom grilled us to find out who had broken the plate or eaten all the cookies. Invariably, when none of us cracked, we were all sent to our rooms while my mom contemplated why it was that she had decided to have 4 children. We occasionally had to wait all day for dad to come home, just so we could line up for a dreaded spanking.

Poor b3 found himself in the emergency room on more than one occasion as he tried to keep up with the rest of us. Luckily for him, fingernails grow back and bones heal. We choreagraphed plays and puppet shows to put on for our unsuspecting parents. We went camping in the backyard. We wrote Basic programs on our IBM-compatible. B1 always knew the tv lineup, so we never missed re-runs of The Monkees or Batman.

B1 was hard to keep up with. When he learned to blow bubble-gum bubbles, I spent weeks working on it. When he came home from school and could write his whole name, I made him teach me how to do my lastname. When he learned how to tie his shoes, I studied the way my parents did mine until I could do it myself. (I consequently tied my shoes ‘wrong’ – with my hands actually crossed – until I was 21 years old and someone pointed out that my method was horribly inefficient and painful to watch.) When he figured out how to whistle, I spent a whole day walking around the house with my lips in a tight ‘o’ shape, blowing as hard as I could.

Even though we shared many adventures, there were some I couldn’t join in, because I was ‘just a girl’. When I was 5, I excitedly told my dad that I wanted to be a cub scout, too. B1 got to go off in his blue shirt and yellow kerchief to go do something really fun, I was sure of it. And he wasn’t the only one, there were other kids in the neighborhood, too. All I remember is my dad telling me I couldn’t be a cub scout, girls weren’t allowed. I’m sure he went on to tell me about girlscouts, but if I couldn’t do what b1 was doing, I wasn’t interested.

All my brothers went on to be boyscouts, where I wasn’t allowed to follow. Not being one to just accept the fact that the ‘Y’ chromosome makes for a superior fire-maker, arrow-shooter, and hiker, I organized my own backpacking trips with my friends. And found that girls can carry 25% of their weight on their backs and spend a week walking 35 miles through the woods, building fires and filtering water along the way, just as well as boys can.

It didn’t stop there; science and math weren’t ‘too hard’ for girls. And I certainly wasn’t about to play dumb to improve my appeal to the other gender. If they had a problem with me being smarter than them, they could go cry to their mommas about it for all I cared. I was a girl, yes; but that didn’t mean I should have a different playing field.

In college, I picked the ‘man field’ of computer science, and I excelled at it. I put those boys in my calc class to shame; they never saw me coming. I graduated with Latin honors, and had a fantastic job lined up when I graduated – which was more than many of my fellow graduates could say.

Today, I’m a software developer, where I work with mostly men. In fact, on my current project, I sit in a room with 4 guys, who range in age from a few years older, to a few years younger. And I love it! It’s just like getting to hang out with my brothers – every day.

sisters

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When I was 11 years old, I was elated when my mom had a baby girl. I already had 3 brothers; now I would finally have a sister!

What I didn’t account for, was the fact that she was 11 years younger than me. And that when I moved out, she would be 7 years old. And that after I moved out, I would be more like an extended relative – more like an aunt who visited a couple times a year – than a sister. The late nights of giggling about boys that I had imagined turned out to be late nights of babysitting.

Not to say that I didn’t enjoy having a baby sister. I think it taught me a lot about the fine art of child rearing – I was too young to remember much of anything about my two little brothers’ first few years of life. With my sister, I was old enough to start learning the arts of diaper changing and baby pacification. I haven’t yet needed those skills – except for other people’s kids – but the responsibility was good for me.

It’s been a few years, and my sister is finally starting to catch up with me. She’s in the midst of high school and will soon be setting off for college. While we’ll never have a relationship of giggling about boys long after we’re supposed to be asleep, I do look forward to getting to know my sister as the adult she is about to be.

The sad thing about my sister growing up, is that one of these days, she is going to realize I’m not quite as amazing as she once thought I was. When she was 5 or 6, I asked her what she wanted to do when she grew up; without any hesitation, she told me she wanted to wear contacts, play the clarinet, and work at McDonald’s. You might think that’s an odd wishlist, but those were the things she knew that I did – and at that age, she knew she wanted to be just like me. Because when you’re in kindergarten, there’s no one cooler than your sister in high school.

I asked her just the other day what she wanted to study in college, and, true to little sister form, she spouted off my major. To be fair, it also happens to be the area of study for two of my brothers – but she’s still looking to follow in my footsteps. I’m glad to see that as she has grown, she has also grown more discriminating – nowhere in her future plans does she include “drive a car with a hugely embarrassing dent” or “own a house with popcorn ceilings.”

She’s definitely not what I thought I wanted when I was 11 years old. But she’s my sister. And that’s exactly what I needed.

dc

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I love Washington DC. Even though I haven’t been downtown for months and I’m only 40 miles away, DC will always have a special place in my memories.

DC was my first big adventure – my first solo outing into the great wide world. I grew up in a smallish town – 35,000 people – in Washington state. This town of 35,000 people had a sister town of about another 15,000, and together, this community of 50,000 people was self-contained. We had two shopping malls – one with 15 stores, the other with 50. There were 3 high schools, 7 grocery stores, 3 McDonalds, a Target and a Walmart. There was no need to venture to the ‘Big City’ an hour away, unless you really wanted to go to the zoo, or you were going to the airport. And so we didn’t. We stayed put in our comfortable lives, lumberjacks and mill workers. It’s a good life, full of hard work and some of the most beautiful country in the nation.

But I was born with the spirit of an adventurer. I wanted to try out that thing called ‘college’. I wanted to see what there was to see beyond the bounds of my hometown. I wanted to marry someone that I hadn’t even met yet. Which is what led me to fill out 37 scholarship applications my senior year. And which is what brought me to the nation’s capitol, 2 months before my graduation.

I had qualified for the final round in a scholarship/internship program based in DC. They were flying me out for 3 days, all expenses paid! Me! Little ol’, 18-year-old, from backwoods Washington state, me. I didn’t think I stood a chance against all the competition I was sure to have, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if I made the final cut; I was getting a free trip to the capitol. Of the whole country. On the EAST coast.

And so I did what any 18 year old about to fly 2000 miles away from home for the very first time ever with no parents would do: I went to the public library and checked out two tourist guides to Washington DC, and started planning out what I wanted to see. Ok, so maybe that’s not what every barely-adult’s first response would be – but I was convinced that this might be my only opportunity to ever see the capitol.

Now, this 3 days in DC was going to be full of interviews, and evaluations, and tours, and lunch meetings, and who knew what else. There was no guarantee that I was going to get any time at all to do any sight-seeing. But – just in case there was some downtime – I was going to be prepared. I read those books from front to back, studied the maps, and learned all I needed to do to use the metro. I knew all about the farecard machines, and all the different passes I could buy. I knew I had to stick my little cardboard card in the slot at the turnstile, and it would let me through. I knew about all the different train lines, and where the transfer stations were. I was ready.

I got lucky with the interviews, passed some tests on the first go-round, and ended up with a free morning. I had to be back by 2 pm for an interview with Yet Another Important Person, but I was determined to make the most of it. I got up as early as I could bear to make it to the metro, for the opening of the National Zoo at 6 am.

It was a rainy day in May. I had an umbrella and a travel guide from my public library, and I asked the courtesy hotel shuttle driver to take me to the nearest metro station. I asked him if he could pick me up at noon, and he gave me a business card and told me to call the number when I was ready to be picked up.

And so there I was at the metro station. Putting my money into the farecard machine. Retrieving my farecard and 5 dollars change, all in quarters. Unfazed, I took the card and scooped up the change into my pocket, and started on my adventure. I made my way with the rush hour crowd onto a train, and headed to the National Zoo. It involved a transfer from the Orange Line to the Red Line, but I was up to the challenge.

I made it to my stop, and got off the train. After exiting the metro station, I spotted a convenience store where I bought a little carton of milk and a granola bar. Continuing my adventure as I enjoyed my breakfast, I walked for several blocks before I realized I was going the wrong direction. And so I turned around, and headed to the zoo.

At 7 am on a rainy Thursday morning, you pretty much get the zoo to yourself. None of the buildings are open, but the grounds are, and you can wander around reading about all the animals, and even get a good look at a lot of them. At 9 am one of the zoo stores opened, so I purchased a bag of souvenirs before heading to my next stop.

A brief jaunt down the Red Line brought me to the FBI building. I entered the building, through the tourist entrance, and promptly set off the metal detectors. After emptying $5 of quarters from my pockets into the bowl, and a smirk from the security guard, I was inside. I didn’t have time to wait for the tour, but I did have time to hit the FBI store. Which I did. After buying more souvenirs than I really needed, I was ready to see the next place on my list.

The Hardrock Cafe! What tourist destination is complete without a Hardrock Cafe? I looked at all the available merchandise, and finally decided on the standard white t-shirt. At $18, it was among the most expensive things in my wardrobe, but it was the Hardrock Cafe. I couldn’t leave without a t-shirt.

Standing outside the Hardrock Cafe with my backpack full of souvenirs and pockets full of quarters, I studied my maps and tried to figure out how to make it to that place called ‘The Mall’. ‘The Mall’, from my reading, was not a ‘mall’ at all, but a collection of some of the most famous monuments and museums in the world. I stopped a man on his way to work to make sure I was heading in the right direction – I had already wasted enough time walking the wrong way to the zoo – and after he pointed me the right way, I was off.

As I approached Constitution Ave, I spotted perhaps one of the most exciting things of my trip: a street lined with discount souvenir carts! How could I go wrong with 3 t-shirts for $10? I loaded up on more souvenirs, and purchased a popsicle from a food vendor. I sat on the curb outside the American History Museum and ate quickly, so as not to waste any time that I could be spending admiring the Smithsonian artifacts.

Inside, there was so much to see: gowns of the first ladies, a giant statue of President Washington in Roman get-up, the ruby red slippers. I sat in a booth to buy a picture of me with President Clinton. With a $5 price tag, it was a nice way to empty my pockets. I made it to the Smithsonian store in the basement, where – you guessed it – I filled up what little space I had left in my backpack with even more souvenirs.

I exited the museum from the ‘Mall exit’, and didn’t realize what was in store for me. I knew there was a metro stop – and I was in desperate need of transportation back to my Very Important Interview – and so that was where I was headed. As I walked across the green lawn of ‘The Mall’, I realized that I had the Washington Monument to my right, and the Capitol building to my left. I dug out my disposable camera, and snapped a few pics before continuing on my way to find that post with the infamous ‘M’. I found the ‘M’-marks-the-metro post and rode the escalator down. I hopped on the next Orange Line train in the direction of Vienna, and got off at my stop.

Luckily for me, there were payphones just outside the metro station. Also luckily for me, I still managed to have the 35 cents necessary for a phone call to the hotel. I didn’t have time to go back to the hotel and still make it to my interview, so when the shuttle driver arrived, I convinced him to take me to my interview.

And so I arrived at my interview, a little damp from spending the morning in the rain, and with a backpack stuffed with mementos of my adventures.

I have since been to many places: Manhattan, Paris, Boston, Gettysburg, Casablanca, Rome, Hershey, Cozumel, Houston, Barcelona, Madrid … more places than I can even recall right now. But DC will always be special, because it was my first. And it’s the only city that I have ever explored by myself. I ended up getting that internship, and spent much of the following summer exploring the city on my weekends – sometimes with roommates, sometimes with fellow interns – but often by myself. They say that one of the best ways to get to know yourself is to travel somewhere new, by yourself. You have no safety net, no one else to fall back on to decide what you should do or what you should see. I love DC because it reminds me of being young, and of thinking that the world is a wondrous place; it reminds me that I am capable of a new challenge; and it reminds me that you don’t really need an entire backpack of souvenirs to remember the trip.

zen

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For people who know me in real life, they know I’ve been talking about building my rock garden for over a year. After 6 months of backbreaking work to build my raised flower bed (all I can say is, that thing better last FOREVER), I was sick of the endeavor, and my flower bed sat empty. Finished, but empty.

Until this last Saturday, when I woke up and decided that it was time. It was time to embrace my sliver of Japanese heritage, and build my rock garden.

All in all, it only took a day to complete. 3 trips to Home Depot, but only an afternoon of work. And I have to say, the completed project looks pretty nice.

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